You Meddling Kids
by qaylen
Summary: A new character gets herself caught up with those no good Xavier kids and just in time to help them solve a dasterdly deed- mystery
1. Default Chapter

            The window was open a crack. It had been a hard night. She was lucky to have found it, so she glanced around the suburban midnight and, finding no one as expected, forced the window open with her fingertips and crawled in. There she found her luck continued. Empty. There was no car in the garage. She closed her eyes and tried to think back. Had there been a car in the driveway? No, she didn't think so. "No 'didn't think so's, Adain, make certain," she whispered coarsely to herself. In a flash she jumped back up on the windowsill, holding onto the edge with one arm and a tail, three-prongs, each digit grasping at a different angle. With such a careful, albeit unusual, hold on the frame of the window, she was able to lean the whole of her solid little body out of the window and peer around the edge of the garage. Nope, just as empty as the inside.

            With a perky jump, she sprang back into the garage. _Two possibilities, then, she thought to herself as she stepped over a chainsaw, boxes full of junk and a volleyball net. __Either they've gone for the night altogether and I have the place to myself, or they're just out for the evening and could return at any second, which could be more risky, somehow, than just being here and being asleep. She crossed to the door leading into the house when another possibility struck her. _Maybe more than one person lives here. Maybe just one person took the car and the other, or others, stayed here. Or is staying up for them. This could be too risky to just walk into. Is it worth it? _ She took a long look around the garage, as her eyes became more adjusted to seeing without the light of the moon and the stars. Looking over all the things in the messy garage, she concluded that, yes, it was worth it._

            Approaching the door, she had to reevaluate it again. There was a security system on the door. Not that sophisticated a one, but just the same, if she guessed wrong, she could possibly be caught. It was late. She was hungry and tired. This was the best chance that she had seen all night and she was unlikely to find something so promising. No, this house fit her needs perfectly. Adain took a deep breath and unscrewed the casing to the security box. It was simpler than she had expected inside. She carefully disconnected two wires, placing them some place safe within the little box and replaced the casing. Closing her eyes and whispering under her breath "please let this work," she turned the doorknob, and opened the door. Nothing happened. She exhaled, having forgotten that she had been holding her breath.

            It was cleaner inside than she had expected. First things first. She opened cupboards one at a time until she found what she was looking for: a bag of Wonderbread, a jar of peanut butter, one of jam and a knife. When she opened the peanut butter, though, she found that the smooth surface hadn't been disturbed yet. She sighed her disappointment and put it back exactly where she had found it. She made two, then three jam sandwiches. She ate one as soon as she had made it, then she went to the sink and washed the knife with a drop of handsoap she rubbed over it with her fingers. When she had rinsed the knife and returned it to the bottom of the drawer that she had found it in, she ate another of the sandwiches. Then she wiped up all the crumbs she could find around the counter and threw them in the garbage, washing off her hands. Taking the last sandwich in one hand, with the other she opened up the bag swung over her shoulder, between her wings. She dug through the bag until she found a piece of plastic wrap crinkled into a ball. She unballed it and wrapped it around the sandwich, which she then put back into the bag. Now to find a place to sleep.

            Usually, Adain slept on the couch while the people who owned the place slept unknowing in their beds. She could get a good sleep and wake up before they would come down and find her crashing in their living rooms. But if she felt that someone would be coming home unexpectedly, she wanted to be out of the way. This would be a good time to take a tour of the place.

            The first floor was out of the question; it was designed in the trendy common-area style, the kitchen, the dining area, the living room all being open without walls between them, the only partitions being the backs of couches and fake potted plants. Even if she escaped notice when (if) these people returned tonight, there would be no way for her to get out of the house. She'd have to hide until they left to go upstairs. That was too risky. So she climbed up the carpeted stairs, walking on the balls of her feet, her wings and her tail out to ensure her the most balance possible. She didn't want to be surprised by a bump in the pipes and fall down the stair to break something and lay there unconscious until the homeowners returned.

            Upstairs there was a huge study with two desktop computers, a laptop and an imposing (and expensive) stereo system, not to mention piles of folders stacked one on another and books all over. As she peered at them, she noticed they were law books. She made a mental note. Just out of the study, there was a strange closety thing. She inspected it closer and realized that it was an elevator. _Some people have too much money on their hands._ Just next to it was a pristine room, bed made with hospital corners, empty vase on the dresser. This must be the guest room. That had potential. She walked through the rest of the top floor, finding the bathroom and the huge master bedroom, which had almost as many files as the study in addition to expensive suitjackets draped over exercise equipment. Adain allowed herself a grin. This was perfect.

            First thing she did in the bathroom was start the water on her dress and spare underwear. She washed them with a bit of shampoo and rinsed them and wrung them out. Then she dug deep in the linen closet until she found a threadbare towel, which she put under the door of the closet and hung her dress and underwear to drip dry. After that, she used the toilet, stripped out of her "work clothes"—the jeans and t-shirt with holes cut in them to allow her wings and tail to work for her unobstructed—and got into the shower. 

            She had a good shower. It felt nice to shampoo her hair on her head, and the hair on her shoulders, and her wings, which had really gotten greasy, and down her back and the short, fine hair on her tail. It felt so right to be clean and warm again, but she knew she shouldn't linger in the shower longer than she needed. She almost stepped out twice, but then she justified herself by washing herself again, this time in cold water, to decrease the amount of steam in the bathroom. Finally, she turned off the water and shook herself off. She reached over the edge of the bath and pulled the towel in from off the floor. She dried herself expertly and quickly, then began wiping down all the wet surfaces of the shower. When she was satisfied, she wrapped herself in the mostly-damp towel and stepped out. 

            She had just picked up her work clothes and was about to take down her dress when there was a loud double knock on the bathroom door. She froze. She had never been caught before. Usually, she had an out, but there she was, wrapped in nothing but a towel, in a small bathroom without windows, on the second story and if she didn't open up in three seconds, the booming voice on the other side of the door was threatening to knock it down.


	2. chapter the next

So she had no choice but wrap the towel all the closer around her and open the door to reveal two angry men glaring her down. Well, at least one was, but he was glaring enough to make up for the increasingly perplexed expression of the other. These, she reasoned, were the occupants of this place. _Dang, it's like the "Odd Couple," _she found herself thinking despite her unfortunate predicament.

            And they were. One of the men was swearing at her, asking her questions and rocking back and forth in anger. He was dressed in sloppy "business casual," all stretched over and unironed. He must have been keeping a long day at work, because he was definitely overreacting to all of this. Obviously the high-strung lawyer of the study. And the other one? His unlikely renter. The guest room had been his, of course. Fortunate, she thought, that she hadn't ran into him when he flopped into bed. Then again, she wasn't exactly certain how far he would have flopped. His elbows rested on the armrests of his wheelchair and his hands were folded in his lap. _Thus the elevator,_ she felt almost with relief at having figured out the place all the better. 

            She ignored all the questions that the lawyer was asking her. This wasn't just shock. If they saw that she was a horrible freak, maybe they'd assume she was also stupid, if she didn't react to them. They'd see it was all just some mistake and maybe the young girl needs to be sent to a place that could give her mental counseling, but there was no need to send her off to jail, or shoot her, or dissect her for scientific study or anything rash like that. So she set her face on "neutral" and, instead of looking at the crimson-faced lawyer, she watched the bald guest as his expression changed from initial surprise (eyebrows high, mouth slightly gaped) to confusion (brow furrowed, slight frown) to amusement (chin tilted up, curve of a smile threatening on the edges of him mouth). It was this last expression that confused her the most. But that wasn't all that she was dealing with mentally.

            She couldn't identify if it was the mix of emotions of having been caught in such an unusual situation, or her own exhaustion, or from watching the bald renter's expressions so closely, but she felt like someone was flipping through her thoughts as if they were library catalog cards. This was such an unexpected sensation that she realized she was squinting at the fellow in the wheelchair as he began chuckling, first softly, but with more and more emotion, until his shoulders were shaking with his amusement.

            "What's so funny, Charles?" The lawyer snapped at his companion. He didn't seem to like his questions being ignored and was obviously too upset to just leave her there while he called the police.

            The bald man smiled at his friend. "She wasn't after your stereo, James. In fact, she was just dropping by for a bite to eat and a nap." Adain felt her jaw lower and unabashedly stared at him. He addressed her. "I have to admit, I've never heard of something of this sort occurring, young lady. You gave my friend quite a surprise." She glanced over at "James" and found that he wore a similar dumb-founded expression. They were both staring at the bald man. "Why don't you get dressed, Adain, and we'll talk."

            James found his voice. "_Talk?_" he almost squeaked. "She broke into my house, Charles, breaking and entering; do you know how many years I could put her away for?" He shook his finger at her as if she were a disobedient dog.

            Charles shook his head slowly. "There was no harm done, James.  I'm certain that you'll feel differently once we talk." James seemed to trust his friend a lot. Adain didn't blame him—the guy knew so much about her; could it have been he riffling though her mind? _But that, she figured, __is impossible. Charles shut the bathroom door on her while she stared at him transfixed, and she heard them quietly discussing between themselves in the hall. _

            Adain heard James say something like, "How am I supposed to be defending mutants when…" 

            She would have liked to have dressed quickly. In her head, she knew that she was getting absolute charity any second that James could talk to Charles without her being present, was a second wherein his interests (ruining her life) would have precedence over her interests (getting out of this unscathed). In short, what if they call the cops?

            While she was all aware of this, she felt very numb. Maybe she was still in shock, but as she redressed into her work clothes, she couldn't help moving slowly and deliberately, like sleepwalking. Though she was dazed, she consciously wished that she at least had been washing her work clothes rather than her dress and she could appear for her hearing looking marginally normal. With her dress on, she could pass as a hunchback. Maybe they'd forget everything they had seen when she was in the towel. That would have been the decent think to do.

            Charles led the way with James standing close to her (in case she ran for it?) as all three of them went to the guest room. Once there, the bald man gestured for her to sit on the bed. She sat carefully, with her best posture: knees together, ankles crossed, legs to one side, wingtips crossed and tilted to the opposite side, shoulders back, hands resting crossed in her lap, tail resting to her side. She couldn't keep her chin up to look her questioners in the eyes; she couldn't do that.

            "Adain," the bald man was saying. "I'm certain James would like to hear the specifics of why you broke into his home tonight." It was like getting chewed out by a kindergarten teacher. She inwardly sighed.

            "I just needed some place safe to sleep for a few hours…" She muttered lowly, "and the jam sandwiches, but I can replace those. There's no need to press charges…"

            "Well, she does talk then." James glared at her unforgivingly.

            "James," threatened the kind bald man.  "For the last time, she didn't have any intention on stealing your stereo system."

            "What's a mutant?" Her curiosity somehow burst through her shock and as she blurted it out, she realized both of them were staring at her.

            "You really don't know?" asked James, regarding her more closely. "I mean, you _have been living under a rock, right?"_

            "Adain, a mutant is a person who possesses, for whatever reason, unusual attributes that make them special." Adain wondered if Charles thought she was stupid or if he talked this way to everyone. "For example, I'm a psychic. I can tell you think I think you're stupid." She was instantly ashamed. This was the guy defending her, after all, and she couldn't afford to antagonize him. "That's how I knew your name, that you were scared and that you didn't have vicious motives when you broke into James' house."

            She was about to inform him that what he was describing was impossible when James spoke up again.

            "There are unknown numbers of mutants. The civil rights crap alone raised up by dealing with them is enough to employ a legion of lawyers. How could you just not be aware of this?" On the plus side, he didn't seem to hate her anymore; he just thought she was brick-dumb and ignorant.

            "I've been living under a rock," she murmured. She looked up at them and explained before Charles could get into her head again. "I spend my time hiding in the Museum of Bibliology."

            "When you're not breaking into people's houses…" remarked James. Everyone ignored him.

            Charles looked two steps away from a gloat. "And why do you do that?" he asked her, even though she was pretty certain that he already knew the answer.

            "So that no one tries to hurt me." She had to be honest with him; there wasn't any other option.

            "What makes you think they'd do that?" 

            She wished he'd get to the point and stop wasting all their time. She made her point at least. "Because I'm a hideous freak that deserves to be tested upon until I can't take it any more and everyone's favored with an autopsy." Maybe she spoke louder than she needed to.

            They stared at her with pity.

            Charles cleared his throat. "I think you should come with me to visit my Institute."

            "Your what?" Nothing good could come of any place called "my Institute."  Institutes, nine out of ten times, are the subjects of conspiracy-theory. She was tired. Not only was this the most emotionally demanding thing she had had to deal with, but just as the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, she was hitting the most "staying up" time she had hit in a long time. A yawn forced its way up her throat and pried her jaws open.

            "You're tired, aren't you?" James stated the obvious. He took his keys out of his pocket and stared at them forelornly. "Better there than sleeping here…but this couldn't have chosen a worse time…" As Adain felt her eyes drooping, she noticed roughly the same thing happening with James. Charles on the other hand seemed downright chipper considering the inhumane hour. "What the hey…I'm taking Charles back anyway… Well, come on." He seemed to think she had a good reason to follow him when he turned away.

            "I wish I knew a quarter of what was happening," she realized she was saying aloud when Charles promised that he would explain in the car on the way back to this Institute. James put a pile of folders in her arms and told her to carry them to the car for him. What choice did she have? 

All of this was a daze to her. They were making no attempt to call the police, they weren't calling her mean names and they certainly weren't trying to kill her. She didn't expect this at all. How could someone meet her face to face, as she was, and not want to hurt her? This wasn't what she had been told. This wasn't what she had imagined. She allowed herself to be herded to the Beetle convertible and she dully struggled to get the seatbelt around her properly. It wasn't until they were going 64 mph down the interstate that it occurred to her that she may have gotten herself into something very, very bad.


End file.
